


See You on the Other Side ('Till We Meet Again)

by LAFAYEETFUCKER420 (elijahjr)



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Afterlife, Canonical Character Death, Character(s) of Color, Descriptions based off of the musical, M/M, POV Multiple, it's like p big but not really, there's ONE historical error but please allow me to use my artistic integrity to play it out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-17
Updated: 2016-05-17
Packaged: 2018-06-08 21:44:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,602
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6874819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elijahjr/pseuds/LAFAYEETFUCKER420
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Alexander Hamilton died, he meant only to steal a quick rest. But, amidst the nothingness and everything, it is rest that has stolen him.</p><p>Or, in which Alexander has died and spends eternity with the people he loved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Paralyzed Force, Gesture Without Motion

> _"There, is a tree swinging_  
>  _And voices are_  
>  _In the wind's singing_  
>  _More distant and more solemn_  
>  _Than a fading star."_

The last thing Alexander remembers up to this point is the grief-stricken face of Aaron Burr as he finalized his mortal shot.

Prior to the duel, Alexander had stopped the proceedings to fix his glasses and his gun's aim. His legacy was at stake. If he shot Burr and it killed him, he'd be tried for murder, and the passions that danced in his mind like fire would succumb to brevity, and the thoughts and proceedings that he aimed to project would be gone. Alexander, if anything, would do nothing ensure that. If not that, he adjusted his eyeglasses in hope that he would find some glimpse of remorse in his foe's eyes, but found nothing more than the anger that seemed to lash out at him with every shudder of the wind.His eyes burned with the stubbornness of a mule as he thought of what he's lost; his first friend, his legacy, his loved ones, and otherwise. God, if only he would have been more brazen in his friendships and resisted the temptations that he succumbed to; if only he hadn't tried living through his son in the belief that he would attain his own legacy, if only...

His eyes burned with the stubbornness of a mule as he thought of what he's lost; his first friend, his legacy, his loved ones, and otherwise. God, if only he would have been more brazen in his friendships and resisted the temptations that he succumbed to; if only he hadn't tried living through his son in the belief that he would attain his own legacy, if only...

 _Why am I here_ , he ponders, suddenly feeling disassociated in the world. His movements felt slow, unsure, like he was playing a role in a story illustrated by one who doesn't know the ending yet. His chest heaved with every breath, his heart pounded. Alexander lost control of his body, and he felt as though he was going to die right then and there. 

 _Eyes up_ , reminds the soothing voice behind his mind. His head feels numb with the weight.

 

Burr aims his gun at his chest, hands shaking with rage and patheticness.

Slowly, wary of sudden movements, Alexander raised his gun to the sky. The world seemed to tense with bated breath as Burr's face was struck with horror as his pistol fired.

The bullet hit Alexander's stomach, tearing through several ligaments and organs. As he fell, Nathaniel Pendleton ran to him and caught him before he slumped to the ground. The doctor, who had turned around for deniability, whipped his head to the sound of the fire and ran to the stricken man.

Alexander grabbed the doctor's sleeve and, with all the strength he could muster, whimpered, "This is a mortal wound, doctor." His exhaled a ragged breath and his once piercing and passionate eyes seemed to weaken and become dull.

Alexander was pulled onto a boat taking the fastest route to the Hudson River to the city and by the time his limp but alive body reached Angelica and Eliza, he was dying quicker than they would have liked. Eliza, though her face was stoic with years of experience, was still wearing her nightgown; Angelica was puce with sobs and was gripping to both Eliza's fabrics and Alexander's collar.

Alexander could barely move his fingers, just barely. Eliza was fanning his face, which was burning like the sun, and kneading his palm with her thumb. He shakily grasped tightly to her wrist with his weak clutch. She smiled; it was too quick, too thin.

The hiccupping sobs of Angelica's cries of staying alive were dulled by the silence that followed.


	2. He Has our Voices.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Voices pass by in the mind of a recollecting Corse.
> 
> Or, alternatively, Alexander hears voices of memories past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mentioned in the tags that there were some historical inaccuracies. Those being some of the information from the musical! Alexander did, in fact, meet Burr, Laurens, Mulligan, Lafayette, and the like. But he did not meet them at the same time. He was friends with Mulligan well before he met Burr, and Laurens was his "friend" well before the both of them beckoned Lafayette into their "gay trio."

In the distance - if it were so possible in nothingness - voices speak softly, hushed or muffled by a wall that seems too transparent to discern. They start to get louder as if the barrier were slowly tearing like paper. Screams break through in a frequent pace; a tangible cry of pain.

A pregnant silence sweeps the voices away. A sweet voice, tired and weak, speaks his name.

"Alexander," it whispers, slurred by a creole accent. "My sweet boy."

"Alexander." A second voice echoes the name, but with less tenderness.

"You must hide," the first voice hurries. "Go!"

New voices emerge and they fly by without concern. Alexander, the one suspended in the nothingness, catches a few words: "Bastard," "Poor," "My son."

The voices slow again to new sentences, each one progressing through Alexander's life.

"Father, you cannot do this!"

"Practice with me: _un, deux, trois..._ "

"Alexander, no! We must take care of our mother, she is ours to protect as much as we are to her!"

"My dearest Alexander."

"Think nothing of it, boy, you poor bastard."

"You needn't worry, Rachel, it is only a passing fever."

Alexander's life passes by, but without sight or pure memory. He strains to hear the voices enunciate his life, whether it be his miserable recollections or his greatest ones. He hears himself scream for his mother, reassuring himself in the storm, thanking the men and women profusely as he accepted their money for the trip to America. He fails to suppress a laugh when he introduces himself to Aaron Burr as if his death meant nothing in the face of his life. His heart swells with joy and love when John Laurens laughed heartily and cried, "Men, boys; all the same! This is war!"

Quick conversations with the marquis, slow and vigorous tales with Mulligan, and quick acts of wit towards Burr to either engage or pester him.

Alexander hears his own speech, from a time precedented by war, and fills with an indescribable emotion. Laurens cheers, "Pray, stand upon the table and speak from your blessed mind! Let these arrant knaves become brave soldiers of freedom!"

Burr mutters, "Or Corses to the king's men."

"Livingston! Kitty, dearest, pass me another ale."

More voices signal a passing of time. They stop abruptly, and there is silence. The crackling of a fire, the first sound made that was not from a voice, fills the room with a still ambiance.

"Alexander," a smooth voice sutures the silence. It was said as a whisper, yet was still the same volume as the other voices had been. It was solemn.

"Laurens," he hears himself in another time reply in the same tone.

Shouts of battle and cries of the rebels broke the conversation, but the silence made way again.

"Promise me something."

"Laurens?"

"You must swear."

Cannons fire. Soldiers beg for mercy.

"When morn brings us our freedom, swear you will stay with me."

"For as long as I am alive, you will stay in my heart."

"Alexander, _swear to me_."

Crowded soldiers beg for food. Washington releases his anger.

"My dearest, John, you know I cannot promise that."

"Pray, what can you promise?"

"My heart's desire."

"No, I cannot have that. You know we must both find what we least desire."

Alexander hears himself talking himself out of something. One lone shot fires.

"It is not in my power."

Washington screams for order in a sea of disdainful roars. The once smooth voice of Laurens pierces through the noise with fear and discord.

"You can't make Alexander leave! You loathsome-"

"The two of you need to learn from this," Washington sounds just as strained. "Lafayette, take Laurens away from here."

"Let go of me! Washington, you can't do this! No!"

"Son-"

_"Don't call me son!"_

Silence. A baby's cry.

 

"Alexander, you could stay," a broken voice whispers.

His own voice whispers, "I wish I could, my dear Betsy."

"Alexander!"

Laurens sobs.

"Don't leave me," he weeps. "Don't leave me again."

"Take the lead; make me proud, son," Washington falters.

Lafayette shouts for the freedom of America, then in pain as a bullet grazes his limb.

Amidst the yelling, a soldier’s cry rings out, louder than any previous sound: “They have surrendered! We have won!”

All voices are gone.

 “Tuesday, the twenty-seventh, Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens was killed in a gunfight against the British troops in South Carolina.”

“No,” Alexander whispers, but not as a voice.

“These troops had not yet received word from Yorktown that the war was over. He’s buried here until his family can send for his remains. As you may know, Lieutenant Colonel John Laurens was engaged with recruiting three thousand men for the first all-black military regiment. The surviving members of his regiment have been returned to their masters.”

The air changes. Light footfalls patter.

“Pops!”

The voice echoes, this time older, weaker, and frightened.

"I did exactly as you said, pop... I held my head up high."

" _No!_ "

Panic is flooding the room quicker than it can escape.

" _Who did this Alexander?!_ "

"Mom..."

"Phillip! My god, stay alive for me... Breathe, deep breaths for me."

Silence stretches for too long. Two footsteps are heard, but only one voice is sobbing. It was Alexander.

"If I could spare his life..."

"Stand, Alexander," a manic yet low voice commands. "Weehawken. Dawn."

His mortal gunshot lands in his stomach.

"This is a mortal wound, doctor."

"Alexander! Alexander! Alex-" a voice brakes down into sobs while another releases a shaky breath.

"Alexander, stay alive for me. Stay alive for us."

Alexander felt his body become tangible, and his hands fly to his stomach. No blood. He whips his head around to search for something, but he finds only himself wherever he looks. Lost, scared, confused.

"Alexander?"

Alexander met eyes with the other inhabitant of the room.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry if you don't like how this is written, but I really like it. It's a life in voices. Also, do you like how Laurens is personified? He had his own problems too!!! And I would imagine he took to Alexander as a kind of defense mechanism against his anxiety and problems? I don't know, but it's kind of like a historical headcanon of mine.
> 
> Also, the announcement of John Laurens' death is from _Laurens Interlude,_ the song that is performed live between _Dear Theodosia_ and _Non-Stop,_ but does not have an official recording. Eliza is the one who reads the letter.

**Author's Note:**

> THIS IS SUCH SHIT IM SORRY CHILDREN :////
> 
> I got some of the information of Alexander dying from a letter by the doctor present, Dr. Hosack:
> 
>  
> 
> _"When called to him upon his receiving the fatal wound, I found him half sitting on the ground, supported in the arms of Mr. Pendleton. His countenance of death I shall never forget. He had at that instant just strength to say, 'This is a mortal wound, doctor;' when he sunk away, and became to all appearance lifeless."_
> 
>  
> 
> And also Chernow himself:
> 
>  
> 
> _"Eliza sat devotedly at her husband’s bedside, fanning his feverish face… Angelica Church hastened to succor the man who had been her obsession for so many years. Gouverneur Morris would remember an inconsolable Angelica 'weeping her heart out.' She [Angelica] expressed her profound admiration for Eliza in the face of such intolerable adversity."_


End file.
